


The Last Campaign

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Mild S&M, Rope Bondage, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under tremendous stress during the period of the Trenton Campaign, the only birthday present Bass wants is Miles to completely surrender to him, so that Miles can begin to heal from a lifelong habit of brutality toward himself. Battle, bondage, and Miloe. Written for Sebastian Monroe Appreciation Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absolute and Real War

**Author's Note:**

> The song Miles sings in chapter 1 is Bob Dylan's "Bucket's of Rain." All chapter titles come from Clausewitz, On War. No copyright infringement intended. I do not own Revolution.

They’d been battling the other militias – some lone bandits, some ragtag pockets of vigilantes, and some even uniformed, color-flying, functioning armies – for almost five years. Now, poised fifteen miles outside of Trenton, New Jersey, on Bass’s birthday no less, they were preparing for a surprise assault on the last united resistance against their own militia – the Monroe Militia (or so Miles had insisted it be called despite being its clear commanding general). The sun was not up yet, and Bass watched Miles dressing methodically in the near darkness of his tent (one solitary yellow flame guiding his fingers to buttons) as Miles mentally traced the lines of battle, the contours of the ground he hoped to occupy, the fallback routes in case it came to retreat. It was like a dancer rehearsing for closing night – internal because he’s been over it a thousand times already.

Miles shifted his eyes to Bass with sudden, piercing intensity. “Bass, I don’t want you riding out to the front. Do you hear me? We can’t both go down. We need to keep some distance between us.”

Bass waved him off. He didn’t take orders from Miles, though Miles liked to believe he did; Bass did what he wanted, which, it so happened, was often what Miles wanted him to do. Bass certainly wasn’t about to make foolish promises before combat. He’d keep an eye on Miles like always. Besides, the one part of being a former noncom Miles could never shake was his insistence on rallying the men from the front instead of from behind. If Miles was hell bent on endangering himself, then so be it: Bass just followed where Miles went.

“I have a present for you,” Bass changed the subject.

“But it’s _your_ birthday. And I only got you this used bottle of booze.” Miles snatched a half-empty amber bottle and rattled it, “and well, something else, but it’ll have to wait.” He almost smiled. Almost.

“But I found something in town you’ll like.” Bass walked over and retrieved an odd-shaped, rather large item from behind the chest of clothes. A guitar case.

“A guitar? Damn, Bass. That _is_ something to live for. It’s been ages since I played.”

“I know. Decent strings and everything. I bought it off some old, greedy harpy for a small fortune. I suppose I could have confiscated it, but it didn’t seem right since it’s a gift.” 

Miles fought another smile and huffed. “Well thanks, but I’m a pretty shitty boyfriend” - he choked a little on the word, because was that really what they were? – “if you have to get _me_ something on _your_ birthday. What the hell do you see in me anyway?”

Bass laughed and reached up to slap Miles’s cheek. “You’re an extravagant sweet talker. I don’t need anything else.” Bass pressed his lips into Miles’s frown, the spines of his stubble cactus-like, but familiar not unpleasant. Bass’s smile faded. “Let’s just win, Miles. That’s all I want.”

Miles grunted. “That’s the plan.” His shoulders appeared tense enough to scrape his earlobes.

The heavens were not cooperating with ‘the plan,’ however. A tremendous rumble of thunder later, and rain burst loose from mounds of ebony clouds, drenching Miles’s troops. As it turned out, _everything_ about the plan went wrong, but Miles remained unflappable. He’d dismounted from his horse, because she was slipping in the slosh, and plunged into the quagmire up to his knees, his boots almost invisible.

Bass tried to hang back away from Miles, but inevitably Miles migrated to the head of the fray and Bass followed. Miles gave him a rather contemptuous glare, while he issued orders from behind a log. At once, the enemy were on top of them, and both men leapt to their feet, back to back, pistols blazing, knives slashing, blood and water running down their faces and hands until they looked like splattered canvases in a modern art gallery.

Somehow Miles pushed his troops up to the high ground, and they fired upon two waves of foe, rolling them back like wheat in the wind. Then, eerie calm.

“Should we follow?” Bass asked Miles.

Miles eyes traveled over his ragged troops. “No. That wasn’t even the bulk of those fuckers. I thought we could draw them out here, but spies are pretty sure they’ve headquartered at Trenton. We’ll have to fight them on their own turf if we want to finish this. Bad for us.”

Bass nodded. Bad for them indeed. Considering the carnage, which was quickly being melted into dirt by rain, it was hard to believe this was little more than a foreshock to a climactic confrontation. Miles wiped his brow, clearly exhausted.

Next up: casualty reports, praise where praise was due, distributing a small laudatory whiskey ration – Bass simply watched as Miles fulfilled his post battle rituals. Rain still pummeled them, but now the troops were merry, mud wrestling, getting punch drunk, less from the meager portion of issued booze and more from the elation of not being dead. 

Miles nodded at Bass. “Let’s get the fuck out of this downpour. We’ll stay in the inn down the road instead of the tent,” Miles suggested as it grew genuinely dark rather than just shadowy from the obscured sun. The battle had spent the day.

“Good work today, general.” Bass clapped Miles on the shoulder as they slogged their way to the inn, their boots squeaking on the stairs up to their room. Once inside, they begin peeling off their wet clothes to their underwear, skin clammy and pruned. They washed the blood from their faces and hands in the pan of water set out for them. 

A quick knock and Bass retrieved the gift guitar from an orderly. “It’s my birthday. I insist.” Bass grinned and flopped on the bed in his boxer briefs, allowing exhaustion to claim his muscles. Miles pulled out the pale wooden instrument and flicked its strings gently, admiring the high-pitched overtones. He sat in a chair and propped his bare feet on the bed near Bass.

“Buckets of rain, buckets of tears. Got all them buckets coming out of my ears. Buckets of moonbeams…in my hand. You got all the love, honey baby I can stand,” Miles’s voice scraped raw and clear over the notes, his fingers picking gracefully at the strings despite being, large calloused, murderous weapons.

Bass closed his eyes in appreciation. “Love that song.” Bob Dylan. Rain. Momentarily, war faded to dream, and the world smoothed out its wobbly orbit.

“I know.” Miles took up another verse. “I like your smile, and your fingertips. I like the way that you move your hips. I like the cool way you look at me. Everything about you is bringing me misery.”

Bass slumped forward onto his arms, burying his face and mumbled into his weary flesh, “Love you.”

“I know.” Miles progressed to Bass’s favorite verse. “Life is sad, life is a bust. All you can do is do what you must. You do what you must do, and you do it well. I do it for you, honey baby can't you tell?” He played the final chord and set the guitar aside – or so Bass could hear the thud of wood on wood as guitar met floorboard. He didn’t look up. He was thinking about Miles. A hundred decisions a minute on the battlefield - Miles’s brain had to be spent.

Bass felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hey. Time for _your_ present. Anything in particular you want?”

Bass flipped over to lie on his back, as Miles (who had stripped naked) slipped off Bass’s boxer briefs and sat next to him. Miles traced his finger along the seam of Bass’s abdominal muscles.

“Look awfully sad for winning a battle on your birthday.” Miles spread his fingers over the ripples of muscle there.

Bass laughed, “Yeah, well, I feel old.” 

“Least we’re old together,” Miles shrugged. “Old is better in a way. We were stupid shits at twenty. Remember? I was engaged to a _woman_ ,” Miles scoffed at that, “and you were getting arrested for drunken disorderly conduct. The hell were we thinking? We’re old sure, but we’ve still got each other.” Miles slid his finger all the way to Bass’s cock, which bounced approvingly at the contact.

Miles’s lively brown eyes were fixed on Bass’s blues. “Now what do you want, Bass?”

The question was simple, but the implications weren't. Bass and Miles had sex on and off for many years, and Bass was accustomed to allowing Miles to dominate most of the time. Bass was fairly convinced that Miles’s insistence on dictating their sex life had less to do with his ultimate desires and more to do with his inability to let go. Miles had been taken captive and tortured in Afghanistan back when they were still serving the United States. They’d never talked about it, but Bass was pretty sure it involved some sort of sexual humiliation.

Bass spoke at last. “I want to know you trust me. If you’re willing.” Miles would have to be complicit if this were to work. 

Miles titled his head and then lightly kissed the shaft of Bass’s penis. “I told you. Whatever you want.”

“What I want is for you to surrender completely to me.”

“Ok then.”

“Can you really do that?”

“You forget: I used to take orders like a champ. Still a Marine.”

“Always. I know. But can you take them from me?” Bass paused. Miles licked his lips in anticipation. “On your knees,” Bass instructed.

Miles slid off the bed and onto his haunches between Bass’s legs, who was now poised on the edge of the bed. Bass entangled his fingers in Miles’s damp, raven hair and pulled at the roots.

“Open your mouth. And don’t move.”

 Bass shivered to watch his Alpha best friend do as he was told. He pushed his penis into Miles’s waiting mouth. Miles almost staggered backward but braced himself with his arms to either side of Bass’s knees. Bass began to fuck Miles’s mouth one hair shy of brutal. Miles’s eyes were bright from the force. He dug his fists into the bed for dear life, and Bass felt him choke a bit. Bass backed off just enough.

“Lick it, Miles.”

A half smile flitted across Miles’s face, betraying that he wasn’t anywhere near submissive. Yet.

Miles licked the precum off the head, saliva tricking down his chin.

Bass felt himself losing his cool and pushed Miles away with a firm palm. “Enough. Lie face down on the bed.”

“Yes, sir-”

“No talking!” Bass barked. 

Miles obeyed.

“Ass in the air,” Bass ordered. Once Miles’s face was completely obscured by the pillows, Bass stretched out a length of rope and began fastening Miles’s wrists to the headboard of the bed. He felt the muscles in Miles’s shoulders tense and paused to put a reassuring hand on one. 

“I won’t hurt you. But I want you to be completely mine.”

Miles took a deep, shuddering breath, and willfully attempted to relax. Bass finished tying the wrists and dug his fingers into the knots of Miles’s neck for a few minutes. That helped. Miles began to sink into his bonds, ass still exposed.

Bass licked his fingers and slid one into Miles’s pucker without warning. Miles stiffened. Bass smoothed Miles’s bum with the other hand.

“I wonder how many fingers I can get in you Miles. If I could get my whole fist into your beautiful asshole?”

Miles was deathly silent and tenser still.

Bass slapped him gently on the butt. “Speak up if you can’t take it.”

Bass pushed in a second, third, and fourth finger – the muscles stretched to their limits. Bass could feel Miles’s body shaking around him and wondered if it was the strain of being stretched, the exhaustion of battle, or if Miles was weeping.

“Don’t think about anything but my fingers, Miles.”

After a moment, Miles’s body gave a bit, and Bass could push them in further, exploring the depths of his lover. Bass could tell he was not going to get past the broad of his hand. Pulling the fingers back out caused Miles pain, Bass could tell, but perhaps pain was part of the release, because once they were extracted, Miles collapsed in a shivering heap.

Bass lay his naked body on top of Miles's taut, lean back, Bass’s aching, dripping cock sticking between Miles’s butt cheeks. He smoothed Miles’s hair. “Are you ok, Miles? You can answer.”

“Yes,” came the voice muffled in the pillow.

“Are you still thinking?” 

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.” Bass slid off him to the side. “Get up onto your knees.” He patted Miles’s ass.

Miles shifted forward, bowed in prayer, his arms stretched out before him. He eyes were squeezed shut.

“I’m going to fuck you within a millimeter of what you can bear. Tell me if it’s too much.” Bass waited for a response. “Miles!”

Miles curtly nodded.

Bass doused his hand with saliva and smeared it along his cock before thrusting forward into Miles’s luridly stretched hole. Instantly, Bass was fucking, driving his body inward and upward as deep as Miles’s body allowed him. Miles’s forehead smacked into the headboard once or twice, and Bass felt Miles’s muscles wage a dual battle of trying to remain relaxed enough to prevent his anus from splitting open and taut enough to brace his body against the sheer force of Bass’s assault.

Miles finally whimpered – a pathetic, small sound. It sounded like surrender to Bass. Bass came explosively, grabbing violent hold of Miles’s torso and forcing him further back onto Bass’s pulsing, sputtering cock. Miles was shaking again, his hair soaked with sweat. 

Still inside of Miles, Bass reached around to unfasten the shackles and let Miles collapse completely into his arms. Miles sniffed, again making Bass wonder if he was crying behind those closed eyelids. Bass ran his fingers down the wiry muscles of Miles’s arms and then encircled him, holding him like a child.

After a long silence, Bass whispered, “Ok, Miles?”

Miles felt like so many tons of jelly in Bass’s arms. Miles didn’t respond.

“You deserve to let go, Miles. It’s what I want for you when we’re alone together. You take on a lot. You internalize it – believe it’s all your fault. Let me be your brain…just sometimes.”

Very slowly Bass extracted his wilting dick from Miles’s sensitive hole, and pushed Miles forward, so that he was lying on his back.

“Relax,” Bass instructed, lying on his side next to Miles. Miles dick was only half hard at this point, and Bass took it into his hand and began massaging its length. The cock swelled, and Bass tightened his grasp, jacking Miles quicker and more forcefully. Miles melted into moans – usually he wasn’t so vocal.

“Close.” Miles’s lips could barely form the ragged words.

Bass quickly dropped his lips to the shimmering head, pumping Miles into his mouth, tasting the salty, slightly rancid come, letting it dribble back out of his mouth and onto Miles’s pelvis.

“Uhhh,” Miles gasped. The orgasm appeared to go on forever, spasm after spasm, spending Miles completely. A final shudder.

Bass wiped his lips off with the back of his hand and rested his head on Miles’s stomach, kissing the hair there.

“Thanks,” Miles muttered, sounding a bit shocked at himself.

“No, thank you. That’s exactly what I wanted for my birthday.”

Miles sniffed again and swallowed. “Why?”

“Because I love you. And I want you to be happy. Are you happy?”

Miles let his hand drop into Bass’s luxuriant blonde curls. “Yes.”


	2. Interdependence of the Parts in a War

Bass knew he was being clingy, but almost losing Miles had done a number on him. Trenton was a success but at nearly the gravest of all costs. Miles had taken a bullet in the gut that had almost finished him. He’d been transported back to Philly for surgery – a terrifying prospect in the Black – but he’d made it through. Even Doc Arora had seemed surprised Miles survived, considering he’d had to repair Miles's intestines and deliver him from a raging infection. The wound was incurred nearly four weeks ago, and only in the past few days had Miles really been up and about again. Despite spending every night resting by Miles’s bedside, awaiting signs of his recovery, Bass had felt very alone. Now keeping Miles within his sight, within touching distance, reminded him that Miles was still alive even if this reborn Miles scarcely put two words together in communication with him. And so, Bass had been following Miles around all day, as the general checked on the prisoners they’d taken in the last campaign, reviewed ordnance and commissary supplies, and took reports on everything he’d missed during his convalescence. Miles didn’t ask Bass for this information; he asked everyone else. Bass tried not to take it personally, but it stung anyway.

Bass sensed that Miles was finally trying to lose him, as he took an absurdly circuitous path to the stables, finally slipping around back by the water pumps so that they were alone. Bass braced himself, thinking Miles was going to chew him out for trailing him like a needy hound dog (Bass even closed his eyes in anticipation of the incoming barrage), but instead, he felt Miles yank the front of his uniform forward so that his lips slammed into Miles’s teeth. Miles shoved his fingers, sticky with the humidity, into Bass’s golden curls and pulled Bass’s face hard downwards into the kiss. Bass’s pulse quickened, and he was bereft of breath by the time Miles pulled away, dark eyes flashing. 

Electricity off Miles’s body crackled in tune with the thunder of a nascent afternoon storm. But Miles still wasn’t talking, so Bass felt obliged to say something. 

“Sorry. I know I’m following you around. It’s not that I don’t trust that you’re better-”

“I know.”

“I just…”

“I _know_.”

“Miles, you actually don’t know, ok?” Bass complained, suddenly cross. The irony was, Miles was actually behaving the way Bass always wished he would – loving, understanding, waiting, instead of being impatient and irritable. Bass feared that in a moment the spell over Miles would break – that indeed Bass was hastening toward this inevitable conclusion with his own mismanaging of the situation. But he couldn’t stop himself. He wiped the sweat from his mouth with a rough hand.

Miles continued to wait. After a moment he shook his head lightly. “Ok. I _get_ it, I don’t _know_. You watched me almost die. But I’m alright.”

Bass felt his hands shake and shoved them into his pockets. Miles's eyes shifted to observe, but he didn’t comment on the weakness.

Miles continued, “Bass, you’ve spent every waking second by my side for the past four weeks.”

Bass began to object, to scoff. Miles was unconscious or sleeping for much of that. How could he have known?

“I knew you were there, and I appreciate it. Because it really helped me get better. But I think you could use a break now. Give yourself a break.” Miles lightly caressed the blonde-stubbled cheek with the back of his hand, before letting it drop. “Ok?" 

Bass nodded, feeling numb. He walked away.

He did take a break from Miles for the rest of the day and actually got some paperwork accomplished. It helped his brain to relax - the knot in his chest to ease. By half-past nine, he was reading Clausewitz in bed and heard a knock.

“Enter,” Bass called curtly, engrossed in military strategy.

“Sorry. Don’t want to bother you.” Miles.

Bass felt an instant throb-ache in his cock and realized that all he wanted was to be inside Miles and know that Miles still wanted that. He hoped the appearance of his friend at this hour suggested that Miles was healed enough for sex. 

Bass’s eyes traveled up the length of Miles’s faded uniform to the intense brown eyes. Miles looked almost shy.

_What?_ Bass questioned him with his eyes.

“It’s just…remember on your birthday, before all of this?” Miles gestured abruptly at his middle, as if he were angry at it.

Bass tried to suppress a smile. “Yeah.”

“I…”

“You want me to tie you up again?”

Miles’s eagerness quickly shifted into annoyance (likely masking embarrassment). “No, that’s not…”

“It’s ok, Miles. You can ask for what you want. It’s me.”

 “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

Bass waited awhile, while Miles shifted his weight, at last Bass grew impatient. “Ok then. Should I go back to reading? Because this is a good part. Not nearly as good as tying you up and getting you to submit your pretty little ass to my greedy cock, but I’ll make do.”

Miles eyes bulged a little, Bass noted, as he shifted his own eyes back down to his book. Miles stood frozen in place for the better part of a minute.

“Miles, when you’re done being childish, take off your clothes and go sit on that chair so I can tie you to it.” Bass grinned contentedly to himself. Holy fuck did he enjoy dominating Miles. He also believed it’s exactly what Miles needed to perhaps finally heal from his inability to forgive himself, to let go, to trust that he deserved anything good. Bass waited an anxious moment to see if Miles would comply. After a huffy exhale, Bass heard the distinctive _thop, thop_ of boots hitting the wall, and the zip of pants being undone. He didn’t look up though, until he sensed that Miles had taken his seat as ordered.

“Although our intellect always longs for clarity and certainty, our nature often finds uncertainty fascinating,” Bass read aloud from Clausewitz, before closing the book and crossing the room to observe nude Miles. His eyes flicked toward the wound and back to Miles’s face, flushed with anticipation. “Spread your legs.”

 Miles opened his legs. Bass tied both graceful ankles to the chair and then fastened Miles’s hands behind his back. The posture stretched the skin on Miles’s injured side, and he grunted.

“Still a little sore.”

Bass clucked his tongue. “This won’t work unless you trust me completely. I’ll take you to the edge of what you can bear but never beyond. I want what’s best for you. It’s all I want. You believe me?”

Miles’s voice was hoarse: “Yes.”

“Ok. I’m going to blindfold you.” Bass retrieved a clean sock from his drawer and obscured Miles’s vision. Then he undressed himself completely – brushing his own cock with his fingertips just so to encourage it.

“Fucking sexiest creature I’ve ever seen, still after all these years,” Bass observed.

Miles twitched and his cock began to swell with blood. “Bass.” The voice came out cracked and ancient.

 “Yes, Miles?”

“Touch me.”

“No, not yet. We’re going to talk.”


	3. Ends in War More Precisely Defined

“Here are the rules. I ask questions. You answer. Got it?” Bass watched Miles’s Adams apple lurch.

“Yes.”

Bass sat on the edge of the bed facing Miles, who was still bound naked to the chair. Miles’s imposing body - the gangly limbs that usually sprawled over so much space, making him appear as though he could dominate landmasses - was buckled and sagging. He looked impossibly vulnerable. Bass wanted so badly to slide his fingers over the jagged shoulders and down the lean hair-lined muscles of Miles’s chest. But that was not what Miles needed. Not yet anyway.

“Miles, what are you most afraid of?”

Miles rasped, “Um…” He sighed; his chest caved. “I suppose that all of this – everything we’ve built to try to make this fucked up world better – is wrong. That we’re actually making it worse.”

Bass let this hang in the air a moment. “Do you know what my worst fear is?”

Miles shook his head. 

“Losing you.” Bass choked slightly. 

“Bass. C’mere. Why are you so far away?” Miles couldn't see but could probably sense the distance of Bass's voice.

“Because you need to get a few things off your chest before I fuck you, Miles.” Bass cracked his knuckles.

Miles exhaled. “Fine. But…look, maybe you need to too.”

Bass allowed himself a smile. Caring Miles - a rare and magnificent beast. “And I am. No talking except answering questions, remember? Next question. Why do you think Ben didn’t try to find you after the Blackout?”

Miles’s shoulders tensed. “What?”

“Answer.”

“ _Alright_ , man. Um…he was pissed that I fucked his wife.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I do not accept that answer. You fucked his wife, because you wanted to feel connected to your brother, to your family. Try again.”

“Bass, what makes you think you know how I feel better than I do?” Resentment laced the voice now.

“I don’t, Miles. I want you to figure it out for yourself.”

Miles appeared to regroup. “Well…I guess Ben didn’t come find me, because he doesn’t want to know me anymore. I’m his stupid, destructive, fuck-up of a kid brother, who decided to get a job taking orders and killing people, because I couldn’t think of anything better to do with myself. I’m a drunk, I hurt people because I can…he didn’t want to be around that. Never did. Didn’t want his children around it.”

“You believe all of that of yourself?”

“Didn’t say I did. Said Ben does.”

“He said that to you?”

“No. You know we never really talked.” Miles shifted in his bonds, as if he were trying to scratch himself. Bass briefly took stock of the abdominal wound. 

“That’s right. You said it, because _you_ believe it." Bass scratched his chin, studying the angular lines of Miles's body. "You know why I love you? I mean besides the mouthwatering dick. I really do want to fuck you right now, you sad sod.” 

Miles’s cock appeared to like being referenced. It twitched in its half-flaccid state.

“I don’t know, Bass. Habit? We’ve known each other a long fucking time.”

“Not habit,” Bass explained, crossing the distance between them at last, kneeling before Miles, and sliding his palms onto the exposed thighs. “Because the essence of you never changes – you’ve still got exactly the same core as the boy I met at seven years old.” A nail in the floorboards threatened to puncture Bass's knee, but he remained still and attentive.

Miles snorted. “I’m that immature?”

“Well you are kind of moody and childish. But no - not what I meant. You love like a kid, and, just like a kid, you desperately want someone to love you back. But you don’t believe anyone ever could. It’s kind of melodramatic and sweet, and I love you for it.”

Bass leaned in and kissed Miles’s neck. Miles dropped his head down to collide softly with Bass’s curly crown.

“Fuck, man. You make me sound so pathetic,” Miles mumbled, sort of nuzzling into Bass’s head and sending a pleasant wave of chills down Bass’s body like a lightning rod.

Bass finally relieved his aching knee and straddled Miles’s lap, gently rubbing the delicate skin of his dick against Miles’s, coaxing them both to life. Bass could feel Miles’s restrained body trying in vain to increase the stimulation.

“Miles. Do you want me to untie you before I fuck you? I’m still going to order you around, but I want to respect your wound – it’s oozing.” 

Miles swallowed audibly. “Ok.”

Bass undid the bonds carefully but left the blindfold in place and led Miles to the bed, guiding him onto his side. Bass lay behind Miles and licked down his spine until Bass reached buttocks, spreading them apart to graze his tongue along the rim of Miles’s pucker.

“Bass.”

“Yeah, I know. You like that.” Bass dug into the hole with a knuckle and reached around to secure Miles’s dick in his grasp. Bass spread saliva down his own shaft and head and pushed into his lover rather roughly. Miles's body resisted. “Miles. Let me in.” He squeezed the captive penis harder, and Miles produced a sexy little gasp. “Maybe it will help you to look at me.”

Bass reached up and untied the blindfold at last. “Look at me,” he commanded. Miles blinked to adjust and turned his head to look over his shoulder at Bass sinking into his ass. Bass forced his dick all the way in and buried himself up to his balls. 

“Umf,” Miles bit his lip, still watching.

“God, Miles, if you weren’t acting like such a tight little virgin, then I could probably get my balls in you, too.” Bass squeezed his eyes shut and began fucking with all of his strength, slamming into Miles’s quivering, sweating body, all the while maintaining his vice grip on Miles’s throbbing cock.

When Bass finally opened his eyes, he saw that Miles’s dark eyes were still locked on him, pooling with desire. Bass jerked his hand up and down Miles’s shaft several times, and then Miles gave way, come spurting and then dribbling down Bass’s fingers as his sphincter compressed Bass’s straining cock. Bass came next, filling Miles, burying his face in the familiarly scarred back, moaning and laughing it felt so good. 

“Fuck, Miles. Fuck. It’s never enough. I’m never deep enough to possess you as much as I want to.”

Miles’s head had collapsed on the pillow. “You feel pretty goddamn deep, Bass. I think it’ll be days before I see that come.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah, well, your dick is big, and you’re balls-deep inside of me. What do you expect?”

Bass pulled out gingerly and moved to spoon Miles. Both of them closed their eyes, biology coaxing them toward slumber.

“I’m so damn glad you’re alive, Miles. Fuck.”

“Yeah. It was pretty stupid of me to get shot.”

Bass snuggled further into Miles’s neck from behind and tightened his grip around Miles’s torso.

In a fading voice Miles admitted, “I guess you can play general of me now and then. You’re not half bad at it.” 

Bass chuckled. "Well...you can't play president. You suck at it."


End file.
